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mally this was an ideal situation; it saved him from needing to reply and from the danger of losing his temper at what he heard. Moreover, nine times out of ten, nothing of any importance was said, the talk consisting of gross flattery of the king and gross conversation in general. Unfortunately, tonight was the tenth time. Salisbury knew there was something dangerous about the name Simon Lemagne, but at the moment he could not marshal his wits into remembering what. |
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"Lemagne is dead. Let him rest in peace," Philip Marc said idly. |
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The purring tone of the king's voice pierced the vague haze engendered by the rich Burgundy wine Salisbury had been drinking. He was still not sure where the danger lay, but when the king used that tone, someone soon suffered for it. |
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"There was a letter," Salisbury said thickly. "I remember, because it came the day de Vipont and I were planning the assault" |
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His voice died. The mention of Ian's name suddenly brought the danger clearly to Salisbury's mind. He remembered the younger man's stricken face, his own anxious questions. Now he remembered the answers to those questions, and he was made dumb by remorse. He had said the worst possible thing in his drunken effort to divert John. |
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"You mean you were putting some small touches to the king's plan," Fulk de Cantelu growled aggressively. "The king told me the whole thing before ever you thought of it." |
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Salisbury lifted his bleary eyes from the stained table where he had been seeking a way of mending his drunken slip. In general, William of Salisbury was not a man given to hate. He tended, in fact, to blame himself for another's fault and to see the best in all men. However, he had learned over the years of his brother's reign to hate Fulk de Cantelu and the man who sat some places |
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